Goose in the Pond - Earlene Fowler [30]
“The group that’s trying to buy up land around San Celina and make a permanent greenbelt? I understand to a degree what they want. I’d hate to see San Celina turn into another Orange County.”
“Yeah, but the problem always comes back to private ownership. It’s real easy for people like Peter to say the land shouldn’t be owned when it’s not his land being legislated. I wonder how generous he’d be if his parents still owned that almond orchard. If ag people and environmentalists don’t find a way to work together somehow, the ranchers and farmers will have to sell out to whoever can buy the land just to pay their inheritance or income taxes. And developers are the only people with that kind of money. I just wish he’d realize we all have the same goals, keeping San Celina from turning into one big suburb.”
“It’s a volatile situation, no doubt about it, but so far both sides have just flung words. So, who else was there?”
“Jillian Sinclair.”
“Constance Sinclair’s niece.”
“Right. And there was Evangeline Boudreaux and Dolores Ayala.”
“Did they know Nora well?”
“Well, Jillian was her boss at the library. I think Dolores and Nora were passing acquaintances. Nora and Evangeline have left together quite a few times, so I assume they’d struck up a friendship. Evangeline’s the type that everyone confides in, so I wouldn’t be surprised if Nora was telling her all the juicy details about her and Roy’s divorce.”
“That’s everyone who was there?”
“Well, D-Daddy was on the grounds, but not actually at the meeting.”
Gabe slid down and tucked the quilt around us, signaling he wanted to go to sleep. I poked him in the side. “Wait a minute, I think I’ve just been had.”
Without opening his eyes, he gave a lazy smile. “And if I wasn’t so tired, I’d have you again.”
“I thought you didn’t want to bring your job to our bed. That was a low-level interrogation, Friday.”
“Now, you’re always wanting to help me with my investigations. It would be even more helpful if you would write all these people’s names down so I can give them to my detectives. Anything else you want to add about any of them? You probably have a better handle on the relationships among these people than my detectives could get.”
“Me? You’re actually consulting me on a case? Someone call the newspapers. Someone call the television stations. Someone call the pope. A miracle has occurred in San Celina. Gabriel Ortiz is actually asking his wife if she has an opinion about a case. Why, it’s unbelievable. It’s—”
“Pipe down,” he said good-naturedly. “And answer the question.”
“Honestly, Nora was a nice person. Though a bit sharp-tongued at times, she was never mean. I can’t imagine why anyone would kill her.”
“I know you like this Grace and Roy, sweetheart, but don’t be surprised if it turns out to be one of them. Most homicides involve money or sex, and they hit the bell on both accounts.”
“I don’t even want to think about that.”
“Well, just remember, no questions,” he reminded, yawning. “That’s my job.”
“You know, with how involved I am with all these people, this time I think I’ll listen to you.”
“That’ll be the day,” he replied.
The next morning, as usual, he was up before me. I lifted my head from where it was jammed into my pillow and watched him through slitted eyes as he pulled on shorts and a sweatshirt. The man’s discipline was phenomenal and sometimes more than a little irritating.
“Your turn to put on the coffee,” I mumbled.
“I do believe it’s your turn this week, but since you were so good last night, I’ll give you this one.” He bent over and tied his jogging shoes.
I struggled up and rubbed my crusty eyes. “Are you saying that if I wasn’t good I’d be fixing my own coffee?”
He grinned. “Now, don’t put words in my mouth.”
“Chauvinist,” I said halfheartedly.
“Just think of it as conditioned reflex. Like Pavlov’s dogs.”
“That’s not a very accurate analogy.”
“It’s as good as I can do on an empty stomach. I’ll jog by Stern’s Bakery and get some fresh bagels,” he said, unperturbed by